Spectrum
by Weirdo.Blabber
Summary: Shintarou has lived in his little gray bubble beyond the reach of any other person. Unexpectedly, a rambunctious hawk-eyed teen pulls him from his little world—and suddenly the world is not so black and white, but rainbows and steel-blue eyes.


**SUMMARY:** Shintarou has lived in his little gray bubble beyond the reach of any other person. Unexpectedly, a rambunctious hawk-eyed teen pulls him from his little world—and suddenly the world is not so black and white, but rainbows and steel-blue eyes.

 **A/N:** I know, I know. I should be writing my other fanfiction before starting another one. But (and this is not a good excuse at all) this has been gnawing at my gut since I remembered I wrote an original script for this. Watching Kuroko no Basuke again, I imagined Midorima as the main character; and then I spent a whole afternoon fantasizing about how it will play out in my head. It's a painful process, but after the pains I've finally given birth to this baby. This time, I'm experimenting with writing in tenses—this time, it's present tense (since I usually write in past tense).

It is implied that Midorima here has an Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) diagnosis. I'm not an expert so if I make mistakes, do comment and correct me to make the story better. In the meantime, please enjoy! (More notes at the end of this chapter).

 **SPECTRUM**

" _People are scared of the things they don't understand. They don't know how to relate. It threatens their security, their existence, their career, image."_

 _-Bill Laswell_

He wakes up and stares at the blank spot on the ceiling, like he does every day. Not like he can actually _see_ anything; it is blurry because his eyesight had gone bad since he was in elementary school. He rises, cracks his neck, stretches his back, turns to his left side and simultaneously plants both feet on the carpeted floor. He reaches out to the bedside table where he had left his glasses the night before, when he went to bed. He squints as he examines them, and then puts them on his ears.

The room is still dark as he stands. Turning to the window, he can see a steady streak of early morning sun streaming through the partition. He draws the curtains, letting the light in. He is greeted by the glaring sun, causing him to squeeze his eyes. The world outside is bright, but black and white as always.

Someone knocks on the door exactly three times and he turns. His mother stands outside his room, the door now open. His trained eyes examine her face: the crow's feet at the outside corners of her eyes show; her dimple, as well. He processes this in his mind as a loving smile, the one she greets him with every day since as far as he can remember.

He blinks—if he counted, he would know he blinked exactly two times. "Good morning, mother," he says, his voice raspy as having just woken up.

"Good morning, Shintarou. Come, breakfast is ready."

It is like this every day. These are mornings for Midorima Shintarou.

Shintarou sits at the circular dining table, his back to the huge glass window. His father, a doctor, is at his right side, drinking coffee as he reads the morning paper. His sister, a middle schooler, is engrossed with her phone, texting. His mother reminds her to put her phone away while at the dining table; she pouts but relents. The elder woman then turns on the radio just in time for Shintarou to hear Oha Asa read him the fortune of the day.

" _First in luck today—Scorpios—!"_

She sits to Shintarou's left, and squeezes his hand. She gives him the loving smile again, and he wonders why he was incapable of such a smile. Even though they are family (it is not hard to tell apart a Midorima from a crowd—they either have green hair or green eyes with extremely long lashes; Shintarou himself is blessed with both), Shintarou has always been the "special" child. He was like them, but at the same time _not_.

"Well, then, let's eat," she addresses them. They say graces automatically, and they start with their meal. Shintarou takes a longer time to start, as his routine requires him to first sanitize his hands, lay the napkin on his lap, and separate the components of his meal accordingly.

"Are you going to Imayoshi-sensei's office today, Shintarou?" his mother asks, distracting him from his thoughts.

Imayoshi-sensei is Shintarou's therapist. Since he was four, he had been meeting with him and several other experts for various therapy sessions that to Shintarou became "classes". These were designed to help him "adapt" to the society, to help him make friends. But although Shintarou had significantly improved his speech and communication skills, he remains lacking in the social department. His classmates didn't understand what it meant for him to "be in the spectrum" and so they avoided him. The innately quiet boy was excluded-not that Shintarou understood what it meant at the time. He does now, though.

"Yes," he answers. "I have the first Tuesdays of the month with him. I will be leaving at nine."

"Will you be out until late?" his mother asks. "It's the first day of summer. Shouldn't you be out with your friends?"

Shintarou's eyebrows furrows and he frowns slightly. He looks at his mother curiously, not knowing why she even asked the question.

"Should I be?" he asks.

A pause.

"But I don't have any friends," he says, breaking the awkward silence.

His mother gives him a look of—one, two, three seconds—disdain. His father stiffens to his right. His sister giggles and taps the table, calling him "weird". Shintarou thinks he smiled. But there is a growing feeling in his chest he doesn't recognize-the feeling of _loneliness._

* * *

Imayoshi-sensei took Shintarou outside for "class". Today, he is taken to a nearby court with Imayoshi-sensei's son, Shoichi, for a friendly game of basketball. Recently his therapist has been trying to teach Shintarou how to handle sudden changes in his organized and rigid routine, so they have been doing "new" things every now and then. Shintarou sighs, resigned, and just about showers Oha Asa with praises for knowing all: today's lucky item is a basketball.

Shintarou is uncomfortable with the physical activity at first, as it is his first time playing basketball. After the first ten minutes, he is dripping in sweat and wanted badly to shower. Despite his height and build, he had never been into physical activities, as team sports fit him poorly.

But as the hour went by, with a few lessons from Shoichi, he is able to shoot some "unreal shots" (as Shoichi called it) though he is still somewhat uncoordinated. At the end of the session, Shoichi asked Shintarou if he wanted to go to his senior high school and join the basketball club. Shintarou innocently asks 'why'.

After his "class", he goes to his usual cafe where sits at his usual corner spot. He orders his usual order-red bean soup with the special onigiri meal. The waiter leaves, and Shintarou sets his luck item for the day on the table.

As he waits, Shintarou drowns in the sights and sounds that surround him. For as far as he can remember, he has always had sensitive senses. Colors are swirling; sounds are cacophonous; smells are pungent; touches are scathing. He sits in his corner, trying to block out all the information, but at the same time watching the people around him animatedly move about. They are all with somebody—friends, lovers, family—smiling the same smile as his mother. Shintarou wonders why exactly people need to crowd around each other. Is companionship prerequisite to happiness?

If so, does this mean he, Shintarou, is... _unhappy_?

Take for example the young man sitting near the wide glass window. Shintarou knows this teen; or, he at least knows the his face. Shintarou sees him now and again at the cafè. He is almost always surrounded by a different group of friends. But no matter who he is with, the teen will always smile widely and laugh boisterously. His eyes always disappear into a thin line, nose crinkling at the bridge every time he laughs. The people around him laugh, too.

Why, though, Shintarou thinks. Although the teen does not look at all ugly to Shintarou, he is not especially good-looking, either. His height is also average. Shintarou thinks that the top of the teen's head would barely reach his chin. But why? Why do people crowd around him? How can he make them laugh like that?

A waitress comes to the teen's table bringing a menu. She gives him a sheepish smile, and the teen flashes her one of his own without hesitation. Perhaps this is the reason why people like him so much; his unbridled generosity with his smiles. Why does he smile like it is the easiest thing to do?

As the waitress leaves, the raven-haired teen catches Shintarou's scrutinizing gaze. He holds his gaze for a split second before Shintarou finds another part of the teen to look at. He feels something warm and fuzzy at the pit of his stomach bubbling; the teen is smiling-probably, at him. His thoughts linger on how exactly it would feel like to laugh… to hang out… to have _friends_. His eyes are now staring blankly at the other teen's denim jacket.

The room goes silent, and it is a pleasant thing to Shintarou. He focuses on the carefully sewn buttons.

All of a sudden Shintarou watches the teen's outline shift and move towards his direction. His movements are so graceful, having a cat-like swagger. The teen stops, and Shintarou finds himself looking at the teen's face. Although it is a very rare thing, Shintarou focuses on the teen's steel blue orbs.

"You were staring at my jacket so I was wondering if you were interested," he says casually. "I know the manufacturer and—"

He blabs on and on; Shintarou's eyes now focus on his mouth. His lips are moving at an unbelievable speed.

"—and if you like, I can give you their contact number. My name is Takao Kazunari, by the way."

Shintarou looks back up at the teen's eyes. He was taught in class to reciprocate an introduction, and so he does. "Midorima. Midorima Shintarou."

"Nice to meet you, Midorima-san." Takao Kazunari holds out his hand; Shintarou stares at it for three seconds before the former takes it back. He laughs awkwardly. "You're weird."

Takao sits down in front of Shintarou and calls up the waitress who is now bringing his food. As she places it in front of him, along with Shintarou's own order, Takao immediately jumps back to another conversation. "So, as I was saying about the jacket—"

Shintarou looks at Takao's sharp eyes now. They remind Shintarou fondly of birds of prey. When Takao repeatedly calls his name ("—san... Midorima-san. _Mi-do-ri-ma-saaaaaan_!") he becomes aware that Takao had asked him a question; Shintarou wonders if he should answer.

On one hand, Shintarou's training and therapy has taught him to reciprocate. Answering would be the proper thing to do. It would give people an idea that he is "in the conversation" instead of his own world.

On the other hand, answering would mean that they are "acquaintances". Shintarou has had very few, and he almost always blew it. He is not sure whether or not he can handle a new one, especially with someone as loud as Takao. All of the possibilities pan out in Shintarou's head.

What is it like to have buddies, anyway?

" _I-"_

 _Shintarou thinks he can try it to find out._

* * *

 **A/N:** This chapter is slow and steady, because I want to establish the monotony and "gray"-ness of his life at the beginning. Color will be splashed here and there in the later chapters. It won't be long, promise.


End file.
